


Private

by masterwords



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Hurt James T. Kirk, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:40:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24907753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masterwords/pseuds/masterwords
Summary: Jim is injured on a mission while saving Spock's life, and Bones has some feelings about it that he can't keep to himself.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 5
Kudos: 73





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I may add another chapter to this one, I'm not sure. It's fluffy, patchy and dialogue heavy, but I have been seeing this dialogue between Bones and Spock for so long in my head that I just needed to get it out and see where it landed. Please forgive any issues or technical errors. I'm listening to non-stop Regina Spektor as I write this and I think it shows. Thank you for reading!

“It's just like you, Jim,” Bones began, his hands shaky and working at ripping Jim's shirt open. The Captain lay on the grass, motionless, his arm twisted in a way that Bones could only describe as wrong. “Always putting yourself on the line for the rest of us without even asking if we wanted that first! Dammit, Jim!” Bones looked up at Spock, who was stalking toward them like a lion on the hunt – he was trying desperately to push down the fury that he, too, was feeling over Jim's bravado. 

“How is he, Doctor?” Spock asked, his voice raw and harsh though he was attempting control. His chest was heaving with breath as he crouched beside the two men in the grass. 

“Tricorder scans show a dislocated shoulder, fractured clavicle, three broken ribs and a concussion for starters. I'll need my full range of instruments to look for internal damage, this tricorder isn't functioning correctly. He's unconscious and I'd like to get him onto the ship before he has a chance to wake up and make it worse with his damn pigheadedness. What was he THINKING jumping from that tree?” 

“I was in danger, Doctor. We had climbed the tree to get a better vantage point, to see if we could locate the plant growth we were looking for, and came face to face with a great catlike creature, much larger in size than we. He distracted the creature long enough that I could get my phaser and stun it, but in doing so he lost his footing and both he and the cat beast fell. The cat managed to get its claws into a branch and moved quickly, stunned but able to get away. My hesitation to fire on the cat beast when we first saw it may have cost Jim his life, this is entirely my fault.” 

“He won't die if we get him to the ship NOW.” Bones snapped, setting the hypospray against Jim's neck to keep him unconscious. 

“Scotty,” Spock began, steadying his shaking hand as he held his communicator. “The Captain has been injured, he needs immediate medical attention. Lock on to Doctor McCoy and the Captain, two to beam up.” 

“You're not...” Bones began, looking up at Spock with fury in his eyes. 

“No, Doctor, I still have a job to do. We must locate,” Spock began, but Bones spat at his feet in disgust. 

“You're a coward!” he shouted as his body began dissolving into the transporter beams before Spock's eyes. A moment later, he was aboard the ship, the Captain still unconscious beside him, and he felt like he would explode from the anger toward the Vulcan. 

\--------------------------------------------------------------- 

Sickbay was quiet, save for the beeping of the life support machines. Bones was sitting beside Jim's biobed, nodding off as he sat in the chair keeping vigil. Jim was going to be fine, but the bone knitting lasers were malfunctioning and only working at half speed so it would take longer than usual and he knew that when Jim woke up he'd be irritated by that. Spock had beamed aboard hours ago, having completed the mission they'd set out on, but hadn't made a trip to sickbay nor an inquiry as to the Captain's status, which Bones concluded was likely his own fault for snapping at the Vulcan. He just couldn't bear the thought of Jim dying for Spock, and Spock just moving forward as if nothing had happened. Of course he knew Spock cared but would it kill him to show it? 

“B...Bones?” came a soft voice from the bed. Bones snapped out of his sleepy state and leaned forward. 

“Yes, Jim,” 

“Spock?” Jim croaked. His throat felt like he'd swallowed glass. Those damn hyposprays. “Spock...OK?”

Bones rolled his eyes dramatically. “Of course, he's fine. He's on the bridge.” Bones watched as Jim sighed and closed his eyes again, visibly relaxing. These two were going to be the death of him. He looked up at watched Jim's vital signs, they were low but stable as the Captain drifted back into sleep. 

\--------------------------------------------------------------- 

“Doctor,” Spock announced, entering sickbay quietly. Alpha shift was over and he was off duty for the night, and though he'd considered returning to his quarters, he instead found his way here. The last person he wanted to see was McCoy after what had happened planetside. “How is the Captain?”

Bones looked up from his computer and locked eyes with the Vulcan. “He'll live.” 

“Yes, I figured as much, but...” Spock hesitated for a moment, knowing that what was about to come out was deeply out of character for him. He'd wrestled with strong emotions today, fiercely trying to understand and categorize and shut them down, but he was exhausted and Bones had cut him deeply with his words – a thing Spock, as of yet, hadn't considered a possibility. “How is he?” 

Bones regarded Spock apprehensively, then motioned for the Vulcan to have a seat and reached under the desk to bring up a bottle of Saurian brandy and two glasses. “You look like you could use a glass.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Spock replied, taking the seat slowly and allowing the doctor to pour a glass for him, though he did not often imbibe the brandy. It was an indulgence that he planned to allow himself this evening, at least a sip. 

“He's gonna be out of commission for a few days, maybe a week. His injuries are healing nicely, though slowly. He uh...” Bones paused for a moment, tossing back the entire drink in one gulp and sighed. “He woke up for a few seconds earlier to ask about you, you know.”

“No, I did not know,” Spock replied dryly, forcing a tiny sip of the drink. It burned his lips. Bones rolled his eyes and poured another glass.

“You're a damned fool, Spock. I'll never understand what a man like that sees in you.” 

“Nor I, Doctor.” Spock replied, regarding his glass of brandy with what almost looked like disgust before tossing the entirety of it into his mouth and gulping it down. It burned his throat and coated his insides with warmth. Bones gulped his own second glass down and wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“He's the best man I know, he risks his life daily for every person on this ship, he could have anyone in this entire galaxy that he wanted for a lover, and he chose you. And what do you do with it?! You hide from it. You squash all of that beauty, all of that feeling, with your cold logic. I meant what I said, Spock. It might have been the wrong time to say it, and I'm sorry I said it when I did, but I don't feel any different now. You're a damned fool and a coward.” 

Spock sat silently, allowing the Doctor to berate him, because in many ways he knew much of it was true, and the parts that weren't were not up for discussion. 

“I do not disagree, Doctor,” Spock said finally, cutting through the tension. “Though it is none of your business, and I owe you no explanation, I will say this, because you are my friend, and the depth of your love for Jim is compelling. Jim is my friend, he is my t'hy'la, and what that means is private. Yes, doctor, the magnitude of his feelings is difficult for me to understand or reciprocate and and perhaps that does make me in some way a coward. But doctor, Jim knows everything – I hide nothing from him. My cowardice, if we are calling it that, is not unknown to him.”

“I know, Spock. He has a lot more patience for your Vulcan nonsense than I do. But how can you watch him nearly die while saving your life, and instead of being by his side, choose to continue a silly mission to find some rare species of plant? You could have sent anyone else down to do the job! Anyone!” Bones was trembling again, and in an effort to figure out something to do with his hands, he poured himself another glass but this time did not down it at once. 

“It was _my_ job, doctor. As soon as the Captain was injured, it was my duty as First Officer to step in. My personal needs do not trump Starfleet orders or rules. This ship and her crew are equally as important to him as his own life, and I took care of what I knew I could and let you take care of what you could. It was the only logical solution, and it was the correct one.”

Bones sat silent for a moment, mulling over what the Vulcan had said. He knew it already, but hearing it from Spock helped it all make just a little more sense to him. 

“Spock?” came a small voice from the room behind where the two men sat. “Is that you?”

Both men stood quickly and made way into the sickbay, finding Jim lying still, eyes half open blinking against the dim lights. The machines were still lazily whirring away over his chest and arm, but his vital signs were almost back to normal. 

“Yes, Jim, I'm here,” Spock replied, and Bones nearly collapsed at the sound of...was that tenderness?...in Spock's voice. 

“The plant?” Jim whispered. He wanted to talk but his throat felt like it was on fire so a whisper would have to suffice. He couldn't move, and his entire body was somewhere between being numb and in screaming pain, but somehow it wasn't the worst he'd ever felt so he just forced himself to focus elsewhere. 

“The mission is complete, Jim. Starfleet was made aware of your injuries and has given us a quiet patrol of the Romulan Neutral Zone for the next week in order to help you recuperate without disturbance. I assured them it was not necessary, but they insisted. They are also insisting on us taking shore leave when our patrol has ended, apparently we are overdue, and I thought perhaps the crew may like to take their leave at Pacifica, so I have made arrangements. Lt. Sulu tells me its beaches are unparalleled.” 

Jim swallowed hard and smiled. “Shore leave sounds...nice,” he said quietly, letting his eyes drift shut again. Bones had him heavily sedated, so much that he'd been surprised Jim had woken up at all, and before another moment passed he slipped back into sleep without another word. 

“Shore leave?” Bones asked, raising an eyebrow. “Did you...”

“Starfleet orders,” Spock replied, rather curtly, though it did not alleviate Bones' suspicion that Spock had requested the shore leave so that Jim could rest. He thought, for a brief moment, that he might almost kind of be able to see some glimmer of what Jim saw...just barely. But in the blink of an eye, Spock announced his departure in order to meditate and whatever Bones thought he saw vanished.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well now we're just diving into fluff town. I know Pacifica wasn't mentioned in TOS, but I'm already outside of canon enough here to just go with it. I'm just letting the cute Spirk happen now. Please be kind. I expect this will likely only have one more chapter, but who knows. I surely don't, haha!

Pacifica was, in Jim's opinion, one of the most beautiful places in existence. The beaches were pristine, the water was crystalline, and the people who lived there and took care of the tourists were the warmest and most welcoming you'd find anywhere. As he watched the crew beam down in groups, he couldn't help but imagine his own turn to beam down. Scotty and a few of his Engineering nerds, as Jim lovingly referred to them, asked to stay behind and perform some maintenance and upgrades on the ship's engines for their own version of down time, thus allowing more of the crew to be gone at one time. It had taken some doing, but they managed to convince him that they would each take at least one day of leave on the planet before the week was through. 

“Are you ready, Captain?” Spock asked, approaching Jim near the transporter controls. “Everyone who is going today has been transferred successfully, leaving only our group to go.” 

Jim looked up at his friend and smiled, nodding slightly. His body was aching and stiff after a week in sickbay, but his bones were mostly healed and he felt at least 50% better now that he was up and moving. Lying in that bed, at times, felt worse than the pain of his injuries. He slowly approached the transporter, ascending the stairs with the aches and stiffness of a man twice his age, but made it at last with some small shred of his dignity still in tact. He could feel Spock's eyes on him, his every move and wince under extreme scrutiny, and tried to stand as tall as he could manage. 

“Enjoy yer leave, Cap'n,” Scotty said with a twinkle in his eye and a cheshire grin. “Energizing.” 

All at once, when they materialized on the planet, the overwhelming smell of the salty sea air overtook Jim's senses and he felt peaceful. He closed his eyes and breathed it in as deep as his aching ribs would allow, holding it there for a few blissful and painful moments before exhaling. Absentmindedly, he reached up and toyed with the sling on his right arm, folding and unfolding it as he stared at the sea. Though the broken bones had been mended by the laser, Dr. McCoy insisted on Jim keeping his arm immobile, to protect his ribs and clavicle – the lasers hadn't been functioning at full and he was worried about Jim re-injuring the fragile mended places. Jim thought he was being over protective, but humored him anyway. 

“Shall we make way for our rooms?” Spock asked, breaking Jim's reverie. 

“Yes, of course,” Jim replied, licking his dry lips and taking one more gulp of the sea air before willing his stiff hips to allow his legs movement. It was slow going, but Spock said nothing, only kept the slow pace of his Captain dutifully, allowing his hand every so often to almost imperceptibly brush against Jim's. They looked up and down the cobblestone streets, wondering at the sweetness of the oceanside village they were to spend their time in. After what felt like miles, the two men found their hotel and Spock approached the desk to check in. Things were very old fashioned in this village, quaint but efficient. Other islands on the planet were far more advanced, often used for Federation business even, but this one was quiet and small and lacked the hustle and bustle of modern life. After a few moments of conversation with the woman at the desk, Spock approached Jim with a grim look on his face. 

“It would seem that your room is up four flights of stairs, Captain, and mine is just down the hall on this floor. I do not wish to insult you,” Spock began, but Jim shook his head and interrupted.

“Spock, you don't insult me by stating the facts. I know I'm pretty pathetic right now, but the exercise will likely do me good.” Jim gave his friend his most self-depricating smile and shrugged as best he could. “I'll live.” 

“Captain, I was going to suggest we trade rooms. I will glady transfer our belongings myself.” 

“Spock, you don't have to...” Jim began, but it was Spock's turn to interrupt him. 

“I insist.” 

There was no arguing with Spock when he was set on something, so Jim just resigned himself to the other man's decision. If he was honest with himself, he was disappointed in either room, because the two of them would be separated by four floors. He had hoped, though he'd never said it, that Spock would only have reserved them one room, but he knew that was a foolish hope. This was shore leave, not a private vacation, and both men knew the implications of their relationship and how badly it needed to be safeguarded from Starfleet and the crew. 

It took them very little time to find Spock's room and, somehow, even less time for Spock to transfer their belongings. The room was small, one bed against the wall and tiled floors everywhere, with one entire wall made up of a window overlooking the bay they were staying in. The bed looked soft and inviting, the polar opposite of the biobed he'd spent the last week lying in. Jim approached the window, pressing in as close as he could get without touching the glass, and smiled. 

“If you are all settled, I'll leave you to rest now. Shall we meet for dinner later, _ashayam_?” 

Jim turned around as quickly as his aching body could muster and smiled, nodding as he felt his cheeks flush and his heart beat faster. It wasn't that Spock had never called him that before, but it had been so long and whenever it happened it felt like the first time. He felt like a younger man in love for the first time, butterflies in his stomach and all, and the feeling caught him off guard each time. “Yes, I'd like that very much. I'm looking forward to it.” 

Spock inclined his head slightly in agreement, arching one eyebrow, and turned on his heel to leave. “I'll meet you here at 1800 hours.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It could end here, but I think I'll keep it going if I can make it interesting. If anyone has anything they'd like to see, feel free to leave me a prompt or a wish - I'd be happy to try and work in any direction someone might want to read. <3

1801 hours and Spock had already been at Jim's door for a full 10 minutes, most of which he'd waited silently. As he knocked now, though, he could hear nothing from the other side of the door. He backed up for a moment, hands clasped behind his back, and waited. At 1804, he knocked again, with the same result. At 1808 he knocked for a final time before pulling his spare copy of the room key from his pocket and entering quietly. The room was silent and dark, and there was a stillness that was almost soothing. The window was open, allowing the sea breeze to fill the room with it's briny winds, and nestled in the bed Spock saw Jim fast asleep, very likely deeper and more comfortable than any sleep he'd had in the last week. The bursts of sunset gleaming in through the window made his hair look like it was made of pure gold. Quietly, he tiptoed toward Jim's bed, just to check before he left to cancel their dinner reservation and head back to his room to meditate. As he approached the bed, he saw Jim stir and his eyes open, sleepy hazel pools of light peeking out from under the lush covers pulled up just past his nose. 

“Oh no,” Jim muttered, his voice thick with sleep. He knew better than to try and sit up, so he pulled the covers down to his chin instead. “I'm sorry Spock.”

“It is nothing, you need rest.” Spock replied quietly, his deep voice matching the serenity of the room. He stood for a moment, breathing in the sleepy sweat smell of Jim and the ocean air, allowing himself that much before taking his leave for the night. “Perhaps we could meet for breakfast instead?”

Jim regarded the question thoughtfully for a moment, and decided it was time to try and sit up, to have a civilized conversation. His ribs protested the action immediately, and his collar bone ached at the movement, but he managed after a few readjustments. Spock's piercing brown eyes were scrutinizing every wince. 

“I know, that looked effortless,” he joked, willing his body to stop hurting for just a moment so he could think clearly. “You know, I am...hungry now...” 

Spock arched an eyebrow, his face the very picture of judgment, and shook his head. “We will not make our reservation at this point. Perhaps I could order you some room service,” he offered. Jim smiled, spotting his opening. 

“Us.” 

“Us, what, Captain?”

“US some room service, Spock. Please stay for dinner.” 

Spock was silent for a long while, so long that Jim wondered if he wasn't trying to find a way out of having dinner with him. In fact, he was, but it was a feeble attempt. He wanted to have dinner with Jim, but he knew the other man needed to be asleep and he knew he'd been the one to interrupt it. 

“Alright, Jim.” There it was. He dropped the formality, now Jim knew he had him hook line and sinker. Time to go in for the kill. He ran his good hand through his hair, tousling the sweaty golden locks playfully, and gave him the most irresistible eyes he could muster. 

“We could eat on the veranda,” his voice was smooth now, so soft and warm. “Or on the bed, but I know how you feel about crumbs in the sheets...”

“ _Jim_ ,” Spock reprimanded, instinctively looking toward the door and then the open window. “You mustn't talk like that.”

Jim feigned hurt and sunk back against the head of the bed sulking. “You're no fun, Mister Spock.”

“My apologies, Jim, but we cannot be so cavalier.”

“Spock, we are on shore leave. No one gives a damn what we're doing, they're out doing the very same thing themselves. Probably worse. _Probably_ things that will require decontamination chambers...this is child's play.” Jim chided, fiddling again with his sling. Spock straightened up a little, as if his delicate nature had been offended, though Jim knew better.

“True, but we are the only ones who are at all likely to be court martialed if caught.” Jim rolled his eyes at Spock's sad attempt to try and thwart him. 

“I'll take the court martial, then. I don't care.” 

At this, Spock simply had to admit defeat. He knew better. Jim could be stubborn and indignant as long as he needed, and Spock simply did not want to engage in an argument that had no end. He let out a soft sigh and softened his stiff pose just a little, which Jim took to mean he'd won this one. It was a good thing, too, because he did care about court martial and he did care about keeping things quiet but he was also in pain and desperate for Spock's attention, so he'd been bluffing but he'd have continued until he couldn't any longer. 

“I shall go and get us dinner, Jim. Please stay in bed until I return.”

“Of course,” Jim lied, fully intending to get himself out of bed as soon as that door was closed so that he could fix himself up just a little. His hair was matted with sweat and he knew his breath wasn't pleasant. 

“I believe the proper response would be 'yes, sir', as I am the acting Captain until you are medically cleared,” Spock responded curtly, knowing full well exactly what his partner was planning as soon as he turned his back. “Do not move. _That's an order._ ” 

“An order?”

“An order.”

Jim sulked in the bed, but resigned himself to following the order. He may have won the first battle, but Spock was the clear victor here.

\----------------------------------

“I could live here,” Jim mused, dabbing at his lips with his napkin and leaning back in his chair to take in the scenery. His stomach was full, the food had been unbelievable and he couldn't take one more bite. In true Spock fashion, he'd made sure all of Jim's food was easily eaten with one hand, to save the Captain's dignity, which made it all the harder for him not to scream from the rooftops how much he loved the other man. He would never baby Jim, or insult his pride, but his thoughtfulness came directly out of his logic. 

“Yes, you could, but you would not.” 

“Of course,” Jim replied, smiling. He knew better. Settling down, though lovely sounding at the moment, was not in the cards for him for a long, long time, if ever. “I need more stars than I can see right now.”

“Jim,” Spock began, pushing his cup of tea around in front of him absentmindedly, “please do not risk your life for mine in such a manner again.”

The air between them seemed to stifle, sudden tension appearing where there had been none before. Jim was caught off guard and narrowed his eyes at Spock in confusion at the sudden serious turn of the evening. “I don't understand...” 

“I cannot bear it.”

That was it, no elaboration, no anything. Jim felt like he'd been smacked in the face by a sneaker wave. He opened and closed his mouth a number of times, attempting to speak before the words would come out. 

“I'm alright,” Jim attempted, finally, leaning forward a little in his chair, pushing past the pain in his ribs. Spock shook his head almost sadly. 

“You nearly died, Jim. I cannot bear it. Everything dies, that is logical, and I do not fear your inevitable death nor mine. However, I cannot seem to reconcile the notion of you giving your life for mine, no matter how I try, and yet you make the attempt over and over again. There is nothing to be gained from it.” 

“Nothing to be gained? Spock, _you_ live! That's worth everything to me.”

Spock sat silently now, contemplating this idea, before resigning himself to an emotional reaction as much as he tried to avoid it. “Forgive my emotional outburst, but Jim, I desire no life that you are not a part of.” 

“Spock” Jim began, a whisper of a smile on his lips suddenly appearing. “You shouldn't be so _cavalier_...what if someone was listening?” 

All color drained from Spock's face as he looked around quickly, very aware all of a sudden of how in the open they were out on the veranda. The immediate shock on Spock's face caught Jim off guard and he erupted into laughter, intensely painful but impossible to stop laughter. Spock turned back to him, raising an eyebrow and stiffened up in his chair just a bit, realizing what Jim had done by throwing his words back at him. 

“Owwww,” Jim wailed between deep breaths of laughter, his left hand coming in tight against his ribs to brace them against his laughter. 

“You deserve it,” Spock replied, sipping his tea and willing his composure back into place. Jim just looked at him as innocently as possible and smiled, his eyes sparkling in the twilight. 

“You're probably right.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If I kiss you where it's sore, will you feel better?" - Regina Spektor

“My God, Jim, why didn't you say something?” Bones looked incredulous, the tricorder beeping in his hand as he sat beside the Captain on the veranda. The doctor had brought some strong morning coffee to Jim's room as a surprise, kind and thoughtful but also manipulative – he'd wanted to check in on the Captain and make sure he wasn't making any new bonehead decisions. 

“It's really not that bad,” Jim protested, taking a sip of the coffee. It was hot and bitter, stronger than the replicated junk on the ship, and instantly made him feel like a new man. He always forgot how very much he missed real, true coffee. Bones stared at him for a moment like he was an insane person. 

“Not that bad?” he asked, shaking his head. “You're a maniac. These tricorder readings show,”

“Bones,” Jim interrupted, pushing the tricorder out of his face. “These machines don't give you the full story and you know it. They're just _tools_. You can see me sitting here in front of you – do I look like I feel as bad as that thing says I should?”

“No,” Bones began, but Jim continued his monologue as if he hadn't heard or cared about the answer. 

“No, because it's fine. Is there pain? Yes. Sure, but it's nothing I can't manage and the way I see it Bones, if I'm feeling pain I'm probably going to make better decisions than I would if I was pain free.”

Bones regarded the statement for a long, silent moment, before shrugging and taking a sip of his own coffee. “Can't argue with that logic, I suppose.”

“I guess Spock's been rubbing off on me,” Jim grinned, leaning back in his chair and letting his eyes drift toward the blue sky. The truth was, he was in a great deal of pain, his ribs felt like they were splintering with every breath he took, and his collar bone sent a throbbing jolt all the way up into his jaw every time he moved, and yet somehow he felt better than he had in weeks, months maybe. He felt light and happy, and as silly as it sounded, that was enough to make the rest bearable. 

“Speaking of that pointy-eared hobgoblin, where is he? Figured he'd be here with you,” Bones said, harnessing every bit of control he had not to make some kind of rude comment about Spock rubbing Jim. 

“Oh, he's around,” Jim replied with a coy grin. In truth, Spock had just returned to his own room after having spent the night in Jim's bed. He wasn't proud of the way he had achieved that sleepover, but the result was the prize. Bones seemed to pick up instantly on the non-verbal cues and shuddered deeply, suddenly wishing there was whiskey in his coffee. The idea of the two of them didn't bother him, he was happy for them in some strange way, but the very thought of lying next to a cold computer like Spock gave him chills up his spine. 

“Well, I'm done with my leave at 1700 hours tonight Jim – would you come to the boardwalk with me today? I've heard there's some incredible fishing that can be done out there, and some great food too. You look like a man who could use a good dose of vitamin D.”

“I'd be delighted, Bones,” Jim replied, finishing off his coffee. “I'll take a shower and meet you there in an hour...and a half. Better make it an hour and a half. I don't move as fast these days.” 

“I'll meet you here, Jim, in an hour. We'll walk to the boardwalk together.” 

There it was, Jim thought. The overprotective doctor wouldn't let him walk through the town on his own – what if something happened? What if he fell and couldn't get back up? He shook his head knowingly and sighed. 

“You're so predictable,” Jim said, standing slowly from his chair to bid the doctor farewell. “See you here in an hour.”

\------------------------------

The boardwalk was bustling with activity, and Jim could see countless members of his crew out enjoying the beautiful day. He and Bones were walking at a slow but steady clip, Jim's aching muscles now moving with a little more ease after a full day of little more than sleep and food and good company. He would take that over medication any day of the month. 

“So, you're a fisherman?” Jim asked as they approached the stall where a young man was renting out fishing gear to the tourists on the beach. Bones chuckled. 

“I've been known to haul in some prize fish in my time,” Bones announced, puffing up his chest just a little and affecting his Southern drawl a bit more dramatically than usual. “How about yourself?”

Jim thought quietly for a moment, looking out over the gentle waves, and smiled. “Not me. I'm no good.” 

“Captain James T. Kirk, not good at something? That sounds like hogwash, kid.” 

Before Jim knew it, Bones had rented two sets of gear and they were setting themselves up on a small rowboat heading out into the bay. The merchant helped push them out into the water after Bones had over-explained to him about Jim's injuries, like an overbearing parent embarrassing their teenager. When they'd drifted over the last of the waves, the boat rocked gently, and Jim did his best to help Bones row with his one good arm, all the while listening to Bones chewing him out for even thinking of touching an oar. 

“It's a two person row, Bones, “ Jim protested.

“You're making it worse, we're turning in circles for the love of God Jim just stop. _Stop._ ” 

The boat sat idly, drifting wherever the waves moved it with a gentleness that could only come from deep, secretive sea water. 

“We can fish here,” Bones muttered, breathing through his frustration – he was frustrated with Jim for being such a stubborn fool, but also with himself, what in the world was he thinking? He could have seen this coming a mile away and yet he did it anyway. He, too, was a fool. The two men sat in silence for a long while, Bones preparing the fishing poles and Jim just sitting and listening to the waves sloshing against the wood of the boat. Finally the poles were ready and Bones reached over, helping Jim to cast his line into the water before taking care of his own. 

The two man sat there, in their small rowboat, for hours sipping brandy and talking. Jim caught nothing, as he suspected would happen, but Bones had made plenty of hauls and released them back into the water after a short spell of admiration. 

“Where'd those clouds come from?” Jim asked, motioning toward a dark mountain of clouds that seemed to be moving swiftly in their direction. “Sky was blue just a minute ago.”

Bones immediately grabbed both fishing lines and reeled them in, plunking them down into the boat without much care and picked up his oar. 

“We'd better make for the beach, Jim, that storm looks nasty.”

Jim picked up an oar and Bones reached out, slapping it out of his hand like he was a child. 

“Stop it,” he chided, beginning to row them as quickly as he could, but it was to no avail. No sooner had they reached the halfway point between their fishing location and the beach, the sky opened up overhead and dumped a torrent of big, heavy rain over the bay. The men were instantly soaked through to the bone, but thankfully neither one had seen or heard any rumblings of an electrical storm to go with. Jim gripped the edge of the boat with one good hand, his knuckles white from holding on so tight as the boat rocked back and forth, ramming bow first into whitecaps until they finally reached the shore. Without any forethought, Jim leaped out into the water (instantly regretting it, as was his way) and grabbed the boat, pulling it with all of his might up onto the sand. The merchant rushed out of his stall and helped Jim pull the boat out of the water entirely as Bones gathered up the fishing gear for the young man. 

“You idiot,” Bones muttered as the two men made their way up the beach, drenched, Jim hunched over to relieve the pressure from his ribs. 

“You needed help,” Jim muttered through gritted teeth. “I wish you all would stop treating me like a damsel in distress. I am, injured or not, still your Captain.” 

Bones accepted that answer, and though he had plenty of rebukes, he kept them to himself. He knew that Jim was in tremendous pain and nothing he could say would get through to him better than that. It took them less time to get back to Jim's room than either man had anticipated, they were moving at a steady clip just to get out of the pouring rain, which was now to the point of beginning to flood the cobblestone streets. When they reached Jim's room, both men stood before the door dripping pools of water onto the floor and couldn't help but let out small laughs. 

“Well, Jim, I'd better go and get my things together. I beam up to the ship in an hour. Can I give you anything before I go?” He began reaching for his tricorder, but Jim stopped him, holding his hand in place before the machine could even come out of his pocket. 

“Put that thing away. I'm fine. I'll see you tomorrow night, Bones.” 

“Don't pull anymore of your bonehead moves when I'm not around, ok?”

“I'll do my best,” was all Jim could say before opening the door to his room and bidding adieu to the doctor. Once inside his room, he clicked the lock on the door and leaned back against it, finally allowing himself to feel the intense pain that had been lurking during the walk back. He hunched over, hugging at his midsection tightly as if he could put himself back together somehow, and squeezed his eyes shut so hard he saw stars. He let out a low, gutteral groan and held himself there for a long while before finally pulling himself together and forcing himself to walk toward the bed. He stared at it for a minute, mulling over his options – get in wet, or somehow find a way to remove the soaked clothes, which seemed like a bigger puzzle than he had the skill to solve at present. 

“Jim,” came a soft voice from just outside the room and he looked up to see Spock, sitting in a chair on his veranda watching the rain fall from under the shelter of the overhang, the door open like he'd been waiting for the other man to get back. When Spock realized that Jim was in rough shape, he shot up gracefully from his chair and hurriedly moved inside the room. “Can I be of assistance?”

It took a few minutes and a lot of trouble to get Jim out of his clothes, but they were successful and soon Spock was easing his friend down into the bed and cocooning his shivering body inside of the plush covers. 

“What happened?” Spock asked, having a seat now on the bed beside Jim. 

“It's a long story,” Jim muttered through chattering teeth, hugging his chest tight and curling himself into a ball. Spock slipped off his shoes and leaned back, kicking his feet up on the bed so that he was parallel to his friend. 

“I have nowhere else to be,” he said, goading Jim into telling him the whole story.


End file.
